What Sorrow Can Do
by Ariru-hime
Summary: Flint assaults his son in a drunken fit. How will Lucas react? One-time incest, FATHER/SON Duster/Lucas.
1. Drunken Stupor

_DISCLAIMER**: I don't own Mother 3. This is pure fiction, and in no way represents the opinions of the creators in any way, shape, or form. :D**_

_WARNING**: I already warned you once, damnit. DON'T READ IF THE IDEA OF INCEST DISGUSTS YOU. Geez. And also, there's suggested molestation in here. So, if you press your browser's back button now, I wouldn't really blame you much.**_

_**CHAPUTAASTAATO**_

Stepping as quietly as possible so as not to alert his father of his presence, Lucas came down the stairs to get his hair brush. As was the standard now that Hinawa had died and Claus had gone missing, Flint was drinking his sorrow away. They both had their own ways of mourning, he supposed. Lucas cried and Flint drank. The problem with Flint's habit was that he flew into a drunken rage half of the time, taking out his anger on anything near enough. Including the furniture, Boney, and even Lucas.

However, hard as Lucas tried, Flint noticed him. In one drunken movement, he was over by his son.

"Lucas, listen to me."

"I love you."

"You're so beautiful."

"Your hair, your eyes, your face, your body..."

"All of it."

"All of you."

"I love you, Lucas."

"Why don't you belive me?"

"I wouldn't lie to you, Lucas."

"That isn't beer on the table."

"I'm not drunk."

"This is me."

"And I say I love you."

"I love you, Lucas."

"Now do what I say."

"Did you hear me?"

"Are you deaf?"

"I love you, Lucas."

"Now do what I say."

"Take off your clothes."

"I love you, Lucas."

"Now take off your clothes."

'Lucas, I love you."

"Take your clothes off now."

"There's no need to be scared."

"I won't hurt you."

"Just do what I say."

"I wouldn't lie to you, Lucas."

"Now do what I say."

"Take your clothes off."

...

"Lucas, I'm getting impatient."

"Lucas, I love you."

"I'm your father."

"Now do what I say."

"Take off your clothes."

"All of them."

"Lucas, take your clothes off."

"Do it now."

...

Flint suddnly slapped Lucas across the face at quite a speed for one supposedly intoxicated, leaving the boy wide-eyed and doubly frightened by his father's drunken spheal. The man had accidentally scratched hima little as well, and blood tricked down the left side of his face.

"Did you hear me?"

"I said take them off."

"I love you, Lucas."

"You made me hurt you."

Lucas shakily removed his shirt, weary of any further harmful action. Flint gave him a minute nod of approval.

"Faster, Lucas."

"Not just your shirt."

...

"I said faster."

Flint grabbbed Lucas' shoulders. The boy flinched back.

"Are you deaf?"

"I said take them off."

"Now."

"Because I love you, Lucas."

"Don't try to resist."

Lucas made no further efforts to please his father, not liking at all where this was going.

"...Lucas, I warned you."

Flint shoved his son up against the wall harshly, knocking the breath out of him. Lucas emitted a sound somehwhere between a scream and grunt.

"Why aren't you listening?"

"Lucas, I love you."

"Take your clothes off."

Lucas kicked his shoes off, wearily meeting his father's eyes with his own terrified yet slightly challenging ones.

"Not just your shirt and shoes."

"Silly."

"Silly Lucas."

"Silly Lucas that I love."

Flint leaned into Lucas, so that his lips were very close to touching Lucas' ear. Lucas couldn't do anything but let out a small whimper.

"You're beautiful."

"Everything about you is beautiful."

"I love you more than you know, Lucas."

"Now take your clothes off."

Lucas plucked his socks off, unable to look up at his father with the tears in his eyes. Flint _tsk'd_ and tighened his grip on the poor boy's shoulders.

"Lucas, are you listening?"

"I don't mean your socks."

"You know what I mean."

He motioned to Lucas' shorts, and Lucas started to shake with the effort of holding his tears back.

"Take them off, son."

"I love you."

"I love you."

Flint leaned in and kisseed Lucas alarmingly gently. A tear slipped down the blonde's cheek. If Flint noticed, he didn't show any sign that he cared.

"Did that feel good?"

"I can make you feel even better."

"All you have to do is take your clothes off."

...

"Lucas?"

Lucas stared at the ground, silently crying, unable to face the drunken man in front of him. Why was he doing this to him? He'd never done anything like it before. The boy made no movement to indicate that he'd do what his father said. Flint sighed.

"...You made me do this."

Flint literally punched Lucas to the ground, hitting his arm. It made a sickening crunch. Arm probably broken, face bruised and scratched, Lucas made no more effort to hide his tears, and he broke down sobbing.

"Why are you making me hurt you, Lucas?"

"Why?"

"I love you, Lucas."

"Don't you love me back?"

Flint kneeled down to the bawling lump on the floor.

"Lucas..."

He stroked Lucas' hair, causing him cry that much harder.

"If you won't do it, I will."

"I'll take your clothes off for you, Lucas."

He unzipped his shorts and had them off in one swift movement.

"I love you, Lucas."

He gripped Lucas' boxers, and Lucas shuddered in uncontrollable fear.

"And even if you refuse to..."

"...I'll make you love me back."

_**CHAPUTAAENDO**_

_**A/N: ...Wow. I can't belive I wrote this. **_

_**Uh, yeah. Comments? Questions? Flames? Leave a review. I'd appreciate it very muchly.**_

Thanks for reading~


	2. Horror

_**A/N: LATE CONTINUATION IS OH SO LATE.**_

_WARNING__**: Kinda sorta detailed description of sexual abuse? Yeah, something like that. Sorries in advance. And I think I used the word 'ass' once.**_

_DISCLAIMER__**: Oh you silly. I don't own Mother/EarthBound. But I wish I did. 'cause then I'd order Nintendo to make a Wii-U version of Mother 3 and demand that they actually RELEASE IT IN THE US/UK/PLACES BESIDES JAPAN /rant**_

_**CHAPUTAASTAATO**_

Duster wandered down the path absently, paying no mind to where he was going. He didn't have a particular destination in mind anyhow.

The night was dark, the waxing moon shining brightly above him. It illuminated his surroundings faintly, giving him a general idea of where he was even though he knew Tazmily and the surrounding areas like the back of his hand. A few birds flew above and a couple of squirrels ran past him, but other than that all was silent and calm despite the horrible turn of events that had recently occurred.

The man's face screwed up in resentment. Even though he hadn't quite been affected by the tragedy, it was still unpleasant and despicable and above all _unfair_. Fuel and Lighter's home had been destroyed, the forest burnt to a crisp, the twins found worse for wear and Hinawa brutally killed. Their community had been rocked to its core, and the issue of the now-missing Claus was beginning to fade from people's minds thanks to the peddler's doing—the Happy Boxes.

Duster sighed to himself. This was why he valued his nighttime strolls so much; he could hear himself think. With his father around all day to yell and order him around and call him a moron, he didn't get much time to do that. At the age of twenty, he was more than old enough to care for himself, but found staying with his old man to be easier than building an entirely new house just for himself. But he'd been doing this ever since he was little. Walking, releasing tension, trying and failing to correct that limp of his...it was rather nice.

All his thoughts were shattered, however, upon taking note of the frenzied footsteps that approached him at a surprisingly quick pace. Looking up, he saw someone he'd least expected to see outside this late: crybaby Lucas, who was...well, in tears. But these tears weren't just the usual sad tears. His eyes were wide, his hair mussed, his clothes wrinkled, and he held his arm tenderly, like it was broken. His small legs propelled him forward, his ten-year-old body hauling ass like his very life depended on it. Then it hit Duster. Fear and hurt and betrayal. That was all he saw in the cerulean eyes before him.

Quickly Duster caught Lucas by the shoulders, as the boy had been attempting to run past him. Lucas flinched and made a little scared noise, like he hadn't been expecting it. He then looked up at Duster, surprise blossoming among the terror and pain, as if just then noticing him.

"Woah there," Duster spoke, attempting to keep his voice calm. Lucas' demeanor was beginning to worry him. "What are you doing out so late at night?" And so far away from home, too; Duster was on the eastern outskirts of Tazmily, very near where he and Wess lived together.

For the moment Lucas' tears had been mere remnants of those presumably shed earlier that night, but when asked that question his bottom lip quivered, eyes widening even more, if it was even possible. "I-I..." he stuttered, going silent for a long moment before he completely broke down, starting to wail right there in front of him, head bent in pain, shame, anguish—any number of unknown emotions.

Worry flooded Duster's brain, and the man scrambled for something to do or say. Out of instinct, he bent to his knees—on eye level with the blonde—before he began to speak softly, like a parent (not Wess, anyway) would speak to his child. "What's wrong, Lucas?" His hands had never left the boy's shoulders. "Did something happen?"

In his grief the boy could only minutely shake his head in the affirmative, his own shaking arms hugging himself. He bent forward, onto his own knees, drowning in his own sobs.

Immediately Duster feared the worst. Flint had been going out every day to look for the missing Claus, though it had been weeks since he'd disappeared and most had given it up as a lost cause. Maybe he'd finally found him, tonight. Only not alive. "What? What happened?"

Lucas only shook his head vigorously. "Please, please, no..." he whispered to no one in particular. His whole body was shaking now.

It was clear Duster wasn't going to get an answer out of him, at least not in the state he was in. After another moment's thought, he went to pick the boy up. "We'd better get you back home to Flint, then—"

As soon as the word 'Flint' had left his mouth, Lucas' eyes flashed and he thrashed around, shaking his head vigorously. "Nonono, _please_," he whispered again. "Not home. Not D...D-D..."

Duster blinked at that. So this had something to do with Flint? Surely he'd come home? But Lucas wouldn't have fled the house in tears because of that, would he? What, then? Duster couldn't think of anything. He didn't want to jump to any conclusions, either. But Lucas seemed scared out of his mind right now, and there was no way Duster could leave him there like that. So he went ahead and hoisted him up anyway, carrying him with his torso over his own shoulder. He was a little bit bigger than your average ten-year-old in stature, but his weight would have suggested otherwise.

Lucas still struggled. "No, _please_! _Not_ home!" he said much louder now, insistent that he not be taken anywhere near his father.

Duster began to walk despite him. "I'm not taking you home," he replied calmly, starting up the winding hill that would eventually lead to his own house. At this the boy relaxed ever so slightly in hold, but did not stop shivering. The man frowned at this, but pushed on.

The lights in the house were on when he approached it. So his father was still awake. _Good_, thought Duster. He was too inexperienced to deal with this on his own.

Shifting the boy's weight to his right shoulder, he used his left hand to open the door, and the light poured out onto them and the surrounding darkness. Quickly stepping inside, he shut the door hastily before grossing across the room to where the couch was.

Wess looked up at him from where he sat on the loveseat opposite him said couch. "You're back awfully soon, you mor—wait, is that _Lucas_?" he cut himself off and asked, standing up and setting his book aside to get a better look as Duster carefully laid him down, propping his head up on the armrest.

"Yes," the thief's son answered, kneeling beside the couch and trying to assess Lucas' condition in better light. Hair still mussed, clothes still strangely wrinkled and odd-looking, and his arm lay in a slightly awkward position. He looked up at the ceiling with those eyes of his. Still pain, still fear, still hollow. He looked like he'd seen a ghost, and subsequently been attacked by it.

Wess walked over, looked over his son's shoulder. "Dear God, he looks horrible," he noted aloud, and Duster shot his a look of disapproval before turning his gaze back to Lucas. Time to try again.

"Lucas?" he asked in a low voice. He raised a hand to place on his arm, comfortingly, but the boy flinched so violently he retracted the appendage immediately. "What's wrong? What happened?"

Lucas squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't...I c-can't tell you," he gasped, near tears once again.

Duster tried his best to calm him down. "Shh, it's alright," he continued. "I'm not going to hurt you, and neither is my dad. Why can't you tell us?"

Lucas put a hand over his face. "Because y-you...you won't b-believe me." He curled into himself slightly. "I...I don't even believe it. I can't...I c-can't."

Duster frowned, out of things to say. But Wess had some words of his own to share. "Lucas," he began in that rough voice of his, "I realize that it might be something bad, and that you want badly to forget about it. But we can't help you of we don't know what's wrong. We'll believe you. Please," he said, "help _us_ help _you_."

Lucas was crying again, but he was looking up at Wess and Duster with a shred of belief, a shred of hope. "Y-You mean it?" he asked, and his tone of voice, so small and scared and helpless, almost broke Duster's heart.

"Of course," the father-son duo answered in unison.

"Y-you have to _promise_," he sniffled. "You have to p-promise you won't...w-won't hate me."

Duster leaned in close. "Lucas," he murmured as comfortingly as he could, "nothing in the world could make me—_us_—hate you."

Lucas stared at him for a long moment, trying to see if he could see through his statement, to see if it was a lie. But after a white he gave up and turned away, taking a deep breath. "Okay. I...I was..." he trailed off, seemingly unsure of how to word it. "He put...he...h..." Lucas had been trying hard not to let his emotion get the best of him again, but he wasn't strong enough, so there he was sobbing again, tremors racking his frame uncontrollably, while Wess and Duster looked on in concerned silence. "He p-put it _in_ me," he whimpered shakily. "He h-hit me and said he l-loved me and then he p-put it _inside_, and it _hurt_. It hurt _so_ _bad_," he managed before he turned into the cushioned armrest completely, blubbering now. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's bad isn't it, oh I'm so _sorry_."

Duster was confused for a moment. Put it in him? Hurt? Maybe someone had stabbed him? But there wasn't any blood. However, when he heard Wess gasp behind him, suddenly things clicked, and he realized with a tremendous wave of nausea and anger what had happened.

Lucas had been molested.

Someone had deliberately taken Lucas aside, taken off his clothes and touched him, fondled him, _raped_ him—_knowingly_. As well as hit him. This innocent ten-year-old boy. It made Duster want to throw up and punch someone all at the same time.

But he forced himself to calm down. Lucas was in an extremely fragile state right now—understandably so—and anger was the last thing he needed. Duster didn't dare attempt to touch him reassuringly on the arm without explicit permission again. "Who?" he asked softly, ever so softly. When he found out, so help the person responsible, he would wring their neck, he would yell and scream and make sure they were exiled somewhere far away—_no_ child, Lucas least of all, should have to go through something so horrible, ever.

Lucas was struggling. "M-m-my d..d..." he tried, but he couldn't bring himself to say it through his tears. Instead he reverted back to his continuous mantra. "I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm a b-bother and the crybaby and I can't do a-anything right, _please_ don't, I'm sssorry..."

That was the worst part, it seemed. When Duster came to the only conclusion that made sense, he nearly couldn't believe it. The reason Lucas didn't want Flint, didn't want to go home, looked so betrayed, couldn't say the name. Because _he_ was the perpetrator. _He did it._

But one look at Lucas' expression, and there was no doubt. There couldn't be. Wess managed to word it quite well. "No one can fake something like this," he muttered quietly to himself more than anyone, expression dark.

Duster had no idea of what to do at that point. Anger was useless, Lucas didn't need his pity, and worry wasn't going to help at all. But he knew that Lucas was here, and that the boy's shattered psyche and damaged person were in his hands. So he did the only thing he could. "You're okay now, Lucas. He can't get to you here. You're safe, okay? _You are safe_."

Lucas whimpered but said nothing comprehensible in response.

Wess suddenly moved behind him. When Duster gave him a fleeting questioning look, he answered quickly. "I'm going to get Tessie. First and foremost he needs some kind of medical attention."

Duster nodded numbly in agreement, and turned back to the shivering boy laid out in front of him. The door slammed shut behind his father, and then the house was silent save for the sounds of Lucas' sniffling. And as much as Duster desperately tried to not think about it, to focus on the boy here _now_, his mind wandered dangerously and suddenly he saw things, the horrible, _horrible_ things Lucas may or may not have gone through. Clothes roughly pushed aside to reveal pale, soft skin, fingers touching places no parent should ever _ever_ touch their child, _writhing_ and _screaming_ and _thrusting_ and—

Duster hunched over now, overcome by two strong urges; one to vomit and the other to cry for this poor boy. Seeing as how only one of these urges could be successfully repressed, Duster chose the lesser of the two and a couple of tears slid down his cheeks, unable to believe any of this and nowhere near able to handle imagining how Lucas could've, having gone through the ordeal himself. He knew he had to be strong right now, for Lucas, but the child was in the fetal position, facing away from him and shivering. What would a few silent tears shed for him harm?

The two sat there in the thick, heavily weary silence, and cried together.

_**CHAPUTAAENDO**_

_**A/N: Alrighty then. This fic just went from bad to worse. -shot-**_

_**So, yeah. Three year gap. Woohoo? I have an excuse doe. You see, I abandoned this account because I'm a silly goose. And started another one. Props to those who might recognize my writing style (or formatting style, lol, whichever you catch first) or something. But I don't really know if moving this to my other account is worth it, sooo... Tadah. New chapter. Yaaay.**_

_**I LIKE DUSTER. He's cool. So this fic will now be centered around him. And Lucas, of course. Cool? Cool. Oh and I'm totally changing the title. Gladly taking any suggestions, because I suck at names. Just look at the current title of this fic.**_

_**Also, I appreciate reviews. Flames I can tolerate thanks to my inherent flameproof skin. Corrections, things you'd like to say, compliments, anything. I'll take it all with a smile.**_

_**Thanks and see you guys soon~...y'know, hopefully. C:**_


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